War Of The Mountain Man

Brown’s face tightened. “I’ll try to keep this from Elias. The boy is sure sweet on that girl; no tellin’ what he’d try to do. Damnit!” the man cursed. “What kind of filth would do something like this?”

Ellie brought them coffee and her husband told her what had happened.

“That poor child. How much hope do you hold out for her, Mr. Jensen?”

“Not much. Max will probably do the deed and then kill her. It’s a pattern of his.”

She frowned and said, “I’m a God-fearing woman, Mr. Jensen. But I have to ask this: Why doesn’t society hang men like Max Huggins and others who do these terrible things? Why are they allowed to live?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. It has something to do with a movement started back east. Something about the worth of a criminal’s life or some such drivel as that. God help us all if it spreads out here.”

They all turned at the sounds of a horse approaching. Pete Akins was coming up the road. He saw Smoke standing in the farmer’s yard and turned in, closing the gate behind him. The gunfighter dismounted and walked over to the group.

“I’m out of it, Smoke,” he said, taking off his hat in the presence of Mrs. Brown. “Bell and Frigo and some others grabbed the little Feckles girl and hauled her to Max Huggins. My gun may be for hire, but I’ll be damned—‘cuse the word, ma’am—if I’ll have a part in abusin’ a child or botherin’ a good woman. If you want another deputy, you got one, Smoke.”

“I had a hunch you’d come around, Pete. Where is Aggie being held?”

“She ain’t bein’ held nowhere, Smoke. She’s dead. Max done his evil and give her to the men. Made me sick to my stomach. I’d ridden over to Kalispell for supplies; came back right in the middle of it. I just got out of Hell’s Creek with my hide on.”

“Are they planning on attacking the town, Pete?”

“If a big enough posse rides out, yeah. They got men on the ridges with signal mirrors to tell yea or nay. I figured I’d ride in and warn the townspeople.”

Smoke scribbed a short note and handed it to Pete. “This will keep someone in the town from shooting you, Pete. I’m going to go show the citizens of Hell’s Creek what hell is really like.”

“You want some company?”

Smoke shook his head. “This is something I want to do myself. How many people pulled out with you?”

“No one, Smoke. There ain’t nothin’ but trash left up there. Men and women. There ain’t no kids in the town. Not a one. Even that so’called minister up yonder took his turn with that poor child. When she went crazy-actin’ after all the horribleness, Frigo shot her.”

“You keep an eye on Elias, Brown. Hog-tie the boy if you have to.”

Smoke stepped into the saddle and was gone.

The outlaw and gunslinger experienced the chill of a cold sweat as the muzzle of the .44 was pressed against his head. He’d just stepped out of the privy and was slipping into his galluses when the muzzle touched his head.

“If I think you’re lying to me,” Smoke’s voice was as cold as the invisible grip of death that touched the hired gun, “I’ll stake you out and skin you alive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Jensen?”

“That’s right, punk. Did you take part in the rape of Aggie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many more?”

“Jesus, Smoke ... ever’body in the whole damn town. Includin’ some of the women. She screamed and hollered until she couldn’t holler no more. Went on all day. Then she went nuts in the head and Frigo shot her.”

Smoke cursed under his breath. “How did you feel raping that child, punk?”

“I ... liked it, damn you!”

“Yeah, scum like you would. They waiting for me down in town?”

“Yeah. They damn sure are. So go on down and git killed, Jensen. You ...”

He never got to finish it. Smoke buried the big blade of his Bowie into the man’s back and twisted it upward with all his considerable strength. Smoke slammed the man’s face first onto the ground to stifle the scream building in his throat. He wiped the blade clean on the man’s shirttail and sheathed the weapon. Smoke checked his guns, loading them full, then took the dead gunny’s two Remington Frontier .44’s, looping gunbelt and all over one shoulder. He made his way back to his horse and circled the town, keeping to the timber until he found a good spot to picket the animal.

He changed into moccasins, slung his saddlebags over his other shoulder, picked up his rifle, and began working his way toward the town. He knew they were waiting for him because of the silence of the usually raucous place. Lights were burning, but there was no laughter coming from any of the saloons.

And Smoke was determined that before he left that night, there would be no cause for joy in the town for a long, long time. If he could, he was going to destroy as much of Hell’s Creek as possible.